In the Absence of Empathy
by allismine
Summary: The only thing he ever saw was their eyes. Everything else that happened within that moment was a blur. Spoilers. Rated T for implications of violence. Oneshot.


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**Disclaimer:** _"Naruto", and all canon characters and characteristics remain the property and rights of Kishimoto Masashi. All I own is the writing itself, and any original features and / or attributes portrayed within said writing._

**A/N:** Just another Gaara-centric post-time-skip life revelation story. :3 I have most lovingly nicknamed this story 'The Thesaurus Fic', due to the fact its structure lies within having each paragraph repeat the same line over and over again in several different ways. It was a new style I experimented with, and I think I did a pretty okay job. xD Enjoy!

I--I

The only thing he ever saw was their eyes.

Everything else that happened within that moment was a blur.

Their facial expressions, the symbol on their hitai-ate, the reason 'why', wiped from his memory as if the details never existed. Their struggles of non-submission were to no avail. Their pleas and bargains, nothing but pointless noise cried to indifference. When his chosen enemy reached the instant of their death, their 'finer points' were no longer worth paying attention to. Those trivialities didn't matter to him...he only noticed their eyes.

Yes, eyes were the most fascinating things to Gaara.

They were the only things he ever needed to see.

Observing what his enemy chose to wear that day didn't allow him to read into their past. Their deepest thoughts and innermost desires weren't revealed through the words they spoke, or the threats they made. True intentions couldn't be deciphered simply by counting how many techniques they knew. Contrary to the Shinobi's belief, there was more to defeating a person than by properly countering their physical attributes. He knew this. And yet, to Gaara, the people who dared challenge him were no different from the rest.

To Gaara, everyone looked the same.

He sometimes wondered what ran through his opponent's mind the first time they laid eyes on him. He wondered how such a simple underestimation could give them that familiar expression of disdainful conceit, the very glare of arrogance which filled him with the passionate loathing required for his next kill. He wondered why the seemingly-unbreakable confidence in their eyes waned upon witnessing the sand's protection, or why it dwindled to nihility when their counterattacks were rendered useless. He wondered why his own eyes lacked the range of emotions his enemy's displayed, the same expression of irrepressible fear when they saw him approach, the same radiance that fades away when he stains the ground red with their blood.

He wondered why his eyes were different from theirs.

Maintaining an extreme disregard toward human life was enough to excuse the flaws in his personality as the mere traits of a true Shinobi; it was enough to deter them from looking in too far. No one was given the chance to look into _his_ eyes, then. No one had the chance to see the emptiness of certainty, the blank expression of indestructibility, the void of which is self-assurance. No one had to realize the appearance of invulnerability, the very feature one must lack to make them human. His was the very gaze that sent chills down the spines of others; his brother and sister, they knew this.

They looked into his eyes and saw nothing.

Why did he lack it?

If he was, in fact, _human_...

Why wasn't it there?

Throughout his childhood, Gaara struggled time and time again to prove that his attitude didn't match his demon's. He wanted people to see him for who he was, rather than what it was he contained. He tried to communicate with others, to help others, to _appreciate_ others, in the mere hopes that his tireless efforts would one day be reciprocated. And yet, when the unmitigated entirety of the obstinate world you live in holds firm to the belief that something about you is true, you tend to begin believing it yourself...even when it contradicts the very nature of your intentions.

In a final act of desperation, you become what they expect you to be.

But Gaara wanted to change himself once more.

This time, for the better.

'_Learn from example. Improve the faults._'

They were the example.

Their existence was the fault.

'_Improve the example...learn from the faults._'

He was their example.

His existence was their fault.

No...

Not anymore.

He wished he could make it so that none of it was true.

He wished he could find some way to make it stop.

He wished...

He wished his hands held the same warmth his sister's had when her fingers touched his skin, when her palm tapped gently against his cheek in an attempt to wake him from his self-induced state of unconsciousness. He wished his voice wavered the same way his brother's did when he spoke, his intonations swaying as naturally as the emotions he so easily expressed. He wished he had the need to fight with the same level of determination the Uzumaki did; without restraint, without fear, without the slightest trace of self-doubt...

He looked into the blonde boy's eyes, and saw nothing short of a man staring back at him.

Gaara realized it was something he needed to see in his own.

A person's eyes were different in the absence of empathy.

As Kazekage, he would look into his eyes and see _someone_.

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End file.
